Hot For Teacher
by Zenith the Hedgehog
Summary: It's 1984 all over again, where a student knows he's got it bad in school when anarchy rules, the partner work sucks, no one does the assignments, making friends is strictly prohibited, and the teacher tries to use her sexual charm to sucker him into doing what she wants. Rated M for obvious reasons. I might never finish this.
1. Electric Twanger

_RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! THE CRAZY FREAK IS BACK! OHMIGHDOHMIGHDOHMIGHDOHMI..._

* * *

September 8, 2009

"Alright class, listen up. My name is Rouge the Bat. The next few months will be the most mind-numbing you will have ever experienced in your lives."

I sat quietly in the back row, jotting down everything this "teacher" was going on about without making so much as a peep.

"It's gonna take a lot of work, sweat, and justice if you wanna pass my institution with flying colors. There will be no time for pleasant conversations whatsoever with the freaks sitting next to you. I guarantee that half the class is here to do just that." I just wanted to laugh. "The remainder of you who don't care about good grades and good studies and such are here to look at my tits." The whole class probably wanted to laugh. "And let me remind you that yes, I have a boyfriend." Now THAT was funny. "That's the last time you'll ever hear me say that in front of this troubled class. Also, I get to brag that no first-year has ever passed my class." I hoped she wasn't trying to single me out. "With that said, for those of you who DO care about good grades and good studies and such, your homework will be grueling. It will take up the majority of your free time. And if you believe in the absence of justice for all, some of you might not make it out of here alive." One glance at the back of the room justified that statement very well. "And what in the hell are you writing, young man?" (or... hedgehog)

I noticed the teacher upon me right as I turned my view away from the back of the room, which featured quite the disturbing sight. She picked up the loose-leaf paper from my desk and eyed it suspiciously, perhaps to catch any note-passing or whatever else was banned in the classroom. She put it back down and leaned towards me, the business expression frozen on her face.

"Careful," she warned coldly. "Hard work _does_ kill."

Still eyeing me with that cold stare, she strolled backwards, ever so slowly, each step more intimidating than the last, to the front of the room. Only then did her view strike back upon the rest of the class. But then I noticed half the other students looking at me as if I was a freak on a leash. Well, that's kinda how I felt for the last three months. I was just waiting for someone to gossip about me or laugh at me.

"As I was saying, at the end of the year, how you do on your final exams will reflect your pace, dedication, brain capacity, study habits, and nerve to cheat the system." Her left eye twitched violently on that last bit. "You'll notice that I do not grade any assignments until the day of 'the' exam. Now you might be wondering, 'How do I know how I'm doing on the homework?' I don't know, find a study buddy or something." How did she know that was my weak point?! "What I'm doing here is going to prepare you for the real world! I will never be able to stress that enough! _Mein Führer_, what is wrong with you freaks!"

Something in my mind tried to disclose my craving to open up to the entire class. I don't know why I let it take over. Maybe it had to do with my Asperger's, at least if it was still intact all those months after "the incident".

"Ok, when I call your name, please indicate that you're present, perfect, past participle, past subjunctive, whatever." (This is not English class, Rouge!) "Alli the Cat."

"Here," said a girl from the other corner, right in front of the teacher's desk.

"Anthony the Hawk."

"Here."

"Athens the Darkwing."

"Here."

So the list was in alphabetical order. Hoop-dee-freakin'-doo. "Uh, Bob Barker."

"Quit calling me that!" some guy from the opposite end of the room snapped.

"No. You're a germ shepherd and everyone calls you Bobby, so it's win-win." I'm pretty sure she meant German. "Also because I like the real Bob Barker." WOW!

She glanced back at the clipboard, and then announced, "Everyone say hi to Bones the Raccoon." Dead silence. "No? Ok then. Carl the Ffffffedgehox?"

The list went on with names I'd never heard of: Herman the Lion (Herman Li), Joseph the King Prawn (Joe King), Wyatt the Wiisel (Wy Wii), yes actual spelling...

"Zenith the Hedgehog..." Her left eye twitched again!

Either the entire class caught that subtle muscle spasm, or they were aware that the teacher had some sort of thing involving me, myself, and pi. I was practically sweating a cup of animal sweat for each intimidating footstep she took back to my seat!

"First question I'm going to ask you is: what year is it?"

* * *

"First off, I'm sure you're all wondering, 'Just what we need math for, anyway?' The thing is, I'm not gonna tell you. I just don't see a point in doing so anymore since I only get one pass a year. And if you think that's hard, wait until you check out Rouge's history class. I don't know why she brags that her class is unbeatable." Unless you are the Mongols. "Whatever. That's none of my business anyway. Let's just get going with some quick math problems. What is the square root of -338?"

Immediately the silence spread among every other freak sitting at a very poorly organized desk. My obvious fear of opening up to the whole class was really showing. I could feel it.

"Come on now, don't be shy. Let's get an answer. Yes, Clyde?"

"Twelve?"

"Ok, now let's get an answer from someone who isn't a complete retard. Anyone at all."

She started to look through that infamous clipboard where the attendance was always taken. Stereotypically technologically challenged much.

"Zenith, how about you?"

Right when I got uncomfortably hot, someone in the front yelled, "I think I know the answer, Miss Rose!"

Someone else in that same row mocked him with a girly meh-meh-meh tone.

"Shut up, you slut!"

"HEY! DON'T CALL ME A SLUT, YOU FUCKING KLOTZKOPF!"

"SHEENA! DID YOU JUST SAY THE 'F' WORD?!"

She probably looked like she had no clue what the teacher just said. "You mean 'klotzkopf'?" Basic proof that they could speak all these languages.

"No, she meant 'fuck'. You can't say 'fuck' in school, you fuckin' slut!"

"IVAN!"

"Why the fuck not?"

"SHEENA!"

"Dude, you just said 'fuck' again."

"ROBERT!"

"Fnnk!" said a muffled voice through a thick bandana.

"KENNY!"

I didn't care how funny this was about to get; it just had to stop right now. I just stood straight up to the side of my assigned desk. "I KNOW THE GOD-FORSAKEN ANSWER!" And I did not regret it. Not one bit. Not even when the entire math class turned towards my direction to notice the short freak with his left hand shot up. Not even when this particular teacher made the same forward motion to my desk as the history teacher: slow and dramatic and creepy. Everyone else in the room looked like they couldn't even count.

"Tell me, what kind of a math class do you think this is?" she sneered. Her conspicuous look seemed even more conspicuous when directed towards me. "I start every year with this kind of math problem, which I always tell the class is a trick question, and no one has ever given me the correct answer, even when I insist that there is a correct answer. I don't know if you've figured it out by now, but our 'school' is completely unregulated, so we teachers have the pride of assigning our students whatever the hell we want. And you're telling me that you know the 'God-forsaken answer'? Then why is your hair so ridiculous? Did you screw up a science experiment, or did you mean to make your _hair_ color and your _fur_ color contrast like this? You do nothing, you know nothing, you sit in your room all day and dig your pencil into your nubbish brain! I am a former lightweight champion boxer and you, you are a complete, total, disgraceful... n00b! Who are you?! Where do you come from?!" I remained silent for the longest time. It wasn't that I couldn't reply to her intense interrogation, but that I didn't want to.

Suddenly my shirt was pulled forward with so much force that I almost felt it come off. "ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, HEDGEHOG!? WHAT DO YOU WANNA DO WITH YOUR LIFE?!"

I already had an idea as to the answer I'd give this bitch before she yelled that infamous line. I realized then that I should've worn my Twisted Sister pin. I glanced back at the rest of the class for the longest time. Every other freak not in my seat followed suit, not letting up at all. I finally faced Amy again, more firm and contemptuous than ever.

"I WANNA ROCK."


	2. Substitute Teacher

I waited in a figurative jail full of talkers, who looked like they wouldn't stop screaming even if the teacher was in here. The teacher's desk was unoccupied, so I imagined if he or she was sitting among the students in order to catch anyone doing Things Not Allowed.

In that case, fourteen of them were likely to be sent to the principal as soon as class commenced.

That was when the door cracked open and someone strolled into plain sight very slowly, dragging out every moment she needed to. She was wearing a vest-like garment and boots of a matching color, but that was it. Insert setting-the-record-straight Justin to describe the color of her fur.

The entire class zipped up with almost-too-straight faces the instant after she laid the stink eye on every student she was likely to call out. I was set on neither standing out nor fitting in. This class was gonna do it for me. No doubt.

"Alright freaks. I'm your substitute teacher."

She took the piece of chalk and assumingly wrote her name on the black board stained with years of teaching in this room.

"My name is Sally Acorn. I taught this class for fifteen years, so don't even think about messing with me. Got it?" I expected a loud murmur of agreement here, but the entire class stayed silent. "Good. Let's take a register." Stereotypically technologically challenged much.

"Pay-tear."

For the longest time the class was zipped up.

"Is there a Pay-tear in this class?"

Then someone slowly and awkwardly raised his hand.

The teacher eyed him evilly for a while, and eventually replied, "Yes, sir?"

"It's Peter..."

"Ok," she snapped. "So that's how it's gonna be. I say a name, and you come up with something totally random that isn't a real word. Ok then." She picked up the clipboard and read on. "Jay-nice."

The girl sitting to my right muttered awkwardly, "Uh, do you mean, Janis?" As in Janis Joplin.

"Really? _Janis?_ What kind of a ridiculous name is that?"

"That's my ridiculous name."

There was the stink eye again for two seconds. Then she scolded, "You talking smack, Jay-nice?"

"That's even more ridiculous. That's what everyone calls me, is Janis."

"You wanna go to war, Jay-nice?" she started yelling. "Cuz I know I'm better at talking smack than any of you. Y'all wanna play, ok." She waved her finger at the entire class. "I got my eye on all of you."

I leaned over to that girl, a slightly taller, maroon cat draped in a judo suit, and whispered, "Hi. I'm Zenith."

"First year?"

"Yeah." I was wondering how she knew that. Maybe she was in one of my other classes?

"Looks like I'm not the only one who hates this ridiculous system."

"You too?!" I didn't care that my whispering was getting louder by the second. "I got called out in both of the other class periods. Where am I!?"

"Is there a Zuh-cherry?" called out the teacher. Still no answer. "No Zuh-cherry? Well you better be sick, dead, or mute, Zuh-cherry."

"My name's Zachary..."

"SON OF A BIPOLAR!"

The intensity of her reaction was characterized by her splitting the clipboard in half on her knee.

"You say your name right, right now."

He just shrugged. "Zachary."

"Correctly."

"Zachary."

"Correctly."

"Zachary."

"Correctly."

"Zachary."

"Correctly."

He sighed and shrugged again. "Zuh-cherry?"

"That's better." The master at picking up foreign systems was now ready to strike. "Now, the next freak to say some stupid-arse name will feel my wrath."

She eyed the list contemptuously. "Zen-nythe."

"Pre-sent," I shouted, my left hand raised, emphasis put on the "sent".

"Thank you! Wait a minute..."

"Son of a bitch."

She held up her right index finger and waved it back and forth, obviously calling me out to the hallway, what with that glare fixed at the crimson streak with the bad do. So I slowly got up from my desk, immediately followed by a round of laughter from the rest of the class. Unfazed, I proceeded to the front of the room and waved my own finger at them and muttered quietly so as to let no one hear me, "Thanks."

Sally was waiting right in front of the classroom door. As soon as she saw that streak of crimson, she remarked, "You think cracking my system will get you anywhere?"

"I figure cracking every system should get me somewhere," I replied simply.

"You think you can actually do that?"

"Well yeah!" Maybe not instantly, but... "Somewhere down the line. I think. I don't care what my teachers think of me at first glance, but I'm not like everyone else, and frankly, I feel like I don't need to be."

"Well then," she started, "you must be pretty smart. I can tell you that this chemistry class will be pretty smokin' hard. How much do you wanna bet that less than five students actually turn in their first assignment on time?"

I looked back into the room to get a quick glance at every bullshit student that was talking to someone else. "Thirty-five dollars."

"Done."

Then we shook on it.


End file.
